


Hermione Granger and the Inner World

by natsinator



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6509800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natsinator/pseuds/natsinator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of the idea that Hermione is autistic, with a Harry who responds to abuse and neglect in a more realistic way. Primarily from Hermione's perspective. Will include interesting adaptations of canon magic and available skills, but no unreasonably godlike characters. Summary likely to change with time. No pairing at the moment. Warnings for canon levels of abuse and violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Letter

Daniel and Emily Granger were perfectly ordinary people, thank you very much. They lived in a nice house in London, paid for by the relatively successful dentistry practice the two shared. They were a loving couple and devoted parents to their daughter, Hermione. They worked hard to give her the best chance in life- taking an active involvement in her schooling. So, when a thick envelope arrived in their mailbox, it was not surprising that the return address was a school.

“Honey, have we been looking for new schools for Hermione?” Daniel called down the hallway. Daniel was a tall, black man, with strong features who wore business casual clothing all week long.

“Not since we moved her to Blackwell, why?” Emily called back. Emily was a petite redhead, with scattered freckles that made her look much younger than her actual middle age. The two were an odd looking couple, but were clearly devoted to eachother.

“A letter from a school just came in the mail,” he replied, walking down the hallway to Emily’s office.

“We’ve probably gotten onto some sort of mailing list- or, you know, I do think Greg- he’s one of mine- mentioned that he would send us a mailer for the school his son goes to.” Daniel handed her the letter. “Well, can’t hurt to take a look- though Blackwell has been fine all this year.”

Emily took the letter opener out of the drawer of her desk and neatly tore the envelope open. She unceremoniously dumped the contents onto her desk.

“Fancy paper,” her husband remarked, peering over her shoulder. Emily looked up at him.

“You’re squinting again- do you need new glasses?” she asked him.

“No, I’m sure I don’t.” He huffed a little, pushing his glasses up onto his face with one hand, while reaching over his wife’s shoulder to pick up the letter with the other.

“Hey!” She swatted his hand back playfully. “If you don’t need new glasses you can read perfectly well from there.” She picked up the folded letter herself and flattened it on the desk. “This has got to be some sort of joke…” she muttered. She handed the letter to her nearsighted husband.

 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

 

Dear Ms. Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Due to your family being non magical, a Hogwarts staff member will arrive within thirty minutes of opening this letter to explain the details of your acceptance.

Term begins on 1 September.

Yours sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

 

“What the hell is this.” Daniel said flatly. “Of course it’s a joke, but I can’t for the life of me understand why someone would do this.”

“Oh, I think I can. You’d think that bullies wouldn’t learn what our daughter is most vulnerable about at every school she goes to, and so fast, too.” Emily scowled deeply. “Hold on, let me get Hermione in here.”

She stood up abruptly, pushing past her husband who was still examining the letter. “And they printed it on such nice paper, too…” he wondered out loud.

Emily walked out of her office and a short distance down the hallway, where she knocked on her daughter’s bedroom door.

“Hermione, sweetheart, can you come to my office? I have something to ask you about.” Emily called, loud enough for her daughter to hear through the closed door. She waited a moment before calling again. “Hermione, please come to my office.”

From inside the room, a shuffling could be heard. The bedroom door peeked open a crack, and a small brown face surrounded by a halo of messy black hair peered out.

“You’re not mad, are you?” Hermione asked.

“No, I’m not mad, sweetheart, I just want to talk to you,” her mother patiently replied.

“You’re sure you’re not mad?”

“I’m sure. Please come out, Hermione.” The door reluctantly swung open, and Hermione stepped out, bare feet balancing on her tiptoes. Emily turned around and walked down towards her office, Hermione following hesitantly behind her.

“Here, sit down sweetheart.” Daniel said when she reached the office, gesturing to the tall office chair that her mother had previously occupying. As Hermione took a seat and did an experimental spin of the chair, her father sat down on the ground. Emily stood by the doorway.

“Hermione,” her father started, but was cut off by Hermione, who was kicking her legs anxiously.

“You’re not mad, are you?”

“No, I’m not mad.” Daniel replied. “I just want to ask you a question.”

“You’re sure you’re not mad?” Hermione said again, the worry evident in her voice.

“I’m sure.” Daniel responded calmly. “I just wanted to ask how things were going at school.”

“Good.” Hermione said.

“Do you have friends there?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“What do you do with your friends?”

“School. Draw pictures. Read books. Go outside. Swing on the swings. Eat lunch. Ride the bus. Do math. Play -” Daniel cut his daughter off from listing every activity that she had ever done.

“Do you talk to your friends?”

“Yes.”

“What do you like to talk about?”

“Magic, cats, books, school-” Daniel cut her off again.

“That’s great, Hermione. Did you tell any of your friends our address?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Which friend?” Her father asked.

“Jacob and Reece and Melissa and Brianne and Markus and-”

“Did you tell your whole class your address?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you do that, Hermione?”

“We all practiced writing our addresses and writing letters.” Daniel heaved a sigh, turning to his wife, who frowned.

“Well, I guess that answers that, but it seems like such an elaborate and mean joke for eleven year olds.” Daniel said.

“You know how these classrooms can be- I’ll have to write a note to her teacher.” At this, Hermione looked up in shock.

“You said you weren’t mad!” she said angrily. “Please don’t tell Miss Bowler that I was bad, please, please, please-”

“You weren’t bad, Hermione, don’t worry- we just want to talk to her about your friends. We promise we’re not mad.” Emily said. “Here, Hermione, why don’t you go back to your room so your dad and I can talk.”

“Ok.” Clumsily, Hermione dismounted from the spinning chair and began to walk out of the room.

At that moment, the doorbell rang.

“I’m not expecting anyone,” said Emily to her husband.

“Salespeople? It’s seven at night.” He shrugged.

Hermione had her hands over her ears, but she made her way to the front door and opened it.

“Hello?” Hermione said, looking up at the stern looking, thin woman dressed in a long, tartan dress.

“Ms. Hermione Granger, I presume?” Professor McGonagall said, looking down at the small girl in jeans and a long tee shirt standing on tiptoe before her.

“I’m Hermione,” she said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Granger. My name is Professor McGonagall, and I am the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I presume you received my letter?”

“What letter?” Hermione asked.

“Ah, your parents must have opened it,” McGonagall said. Said parents chose that moment to make an appearance, realizing that their daughter had answered the door. They stood behind Hermione; Emily put her hand heavily on Hermione’s shoulder and she squirmed as if to extract herself.

“Excuse me,” said Mrs. Granger, “but who are you?”

“I am Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and professor of transfiguration. You must be Mr and Mrs Granger.” McGonagall stuck out her hand, but neither of the Grangers inclined to shake it. “May I come in?”

“What kind of joke is this?” Ms. Granger demanded sharply. “I will not have random strangers coming along to torture my daughter. You’re a horrible person for going along with, encouraging, really, such a mean children’s prank.”

“I beg your pardon?” McGonagall said. “I assure you, this is no joke. I will be most happy to explain.”

“What’s going on?” Hermione muttered, wringing her hands together. “What’s going on?”

“Hermione, how about you go to your room, sweeheart. Your mum and I will deal with this.” Mr. Granger said, gently pushing Hermione behind him.

“Actually, this conversation would be of Ms. Granger’s benefit to hear,” McGonagall said. “May I come in?” she asked again, more insistently.

“You’re not going to go away until you tell us whatever you have to say, I assume?” Mr. Granger said. His wife glowered at him.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Granger.”

“Then I suppose it can’t be helped.” He shot a look at his wife that said ‘humor her and maybe she will go away’ and his wife frowned back.

Mr. Granger stepped aside to allow McGonagall inside the house, though she had to edge past the still glowering Mrs. Granger.

“Let’s go to the kitchen,” he said. “Would you care for a spot of tea, Ms…”

“McGonagall,” she repeated. “And no, thank you.”

They entered the brightly lit kitchen and Emily and Daniel took seats at the table, gesturing for McGonagall to take the third seat across from them. Underneath the table, Daniel reached out to take his wife’s hand, but she poked him in the thigh instead, clearly still mad about allowing this strange woman into her house. He tried not to jump at the gentle prod, didn’t quite succeed, and hurriedly placed both his hands on the table, steepleing his fingers.

No one paid attention to Hermione, who had not gone to her bedroom, but was instead standing silently and barely visible in the hallway, watching the conversation.

“What is it you wanted to talk about, Ms. McGonagall?” Emily asked tersely.

“As you may have read in the letter that you received, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, your daughter, Hermione, has been accepted into Hogwarts school.” She held up her hand, sensing that Mrs. Granger was about to interrupt again. “Of course, you did not apply to this school, nor did Hermione herself. Simply put, she was selected on the day that she was born, when the Quill of Hogwarts wrote down her name in the list of magical humans: wizards and witches, born in England, Scotland, Northern Ireland, and Wales. Your daughter,” McGonagall said sternly, “is a witch, a person born with the ability to do magic. At age eleven, all magical children are given an invitation to Hogwarts, so that they can learn to control their magic and become full members of the wizarding world, a world which secretly exists in parallel to your own, non magical one.”

Mr. Granger looked like he had just sat down in something unpleasant.

“I know that this is a lot to take in, and I will not expect you to believe this on blind faith.” McGonagall pulled a stick, her wand, out of her sleeve, where it had been holstered. “A simple demonstration.”

She pointed her wand at the salt shaker that was sitting on the table, gave it a quick flick of her wrist, and the salt shaker disappeared, replaced with a small, live bird. The sparrow hopped around the table for a moment, peering at the three people, while the two Granger parents looked on in shock and not a little bit of horror. From the hallway, Hermione could not see what was happening on the table, but the looks on her parents faces gave her all of the information that she needed to know. She smiled a tiny smile and bounced on her toes.

After giving the two parents a moment to digest, but not long enough of a moment to allow the bird to make a mess on the table, McGonagall flicked her wand again and the bird returned to being a salt shaker, now about a foot away from where it started. She flicked her wand again and it slid quickly across the table into its proper place. The Grangers looked shocked; Mr. Granger was opening and closing his mouth, trying to think of something to say. Mrs. Granger managed to squeak something out.

“How?” She asked, somewhat timidly, unable to form other words to express her complete shock.

“The short explanation, Mrs. Granger,” McGonagall said kindly, “is that magic is real, and that your daughter, with training, can do these same things in a few years.”

“Training at this school, Hogwarts?” Mr. Granger asked.

“Precisely, Mr. Granger.” McGonagall smiled.

“How can Hermione be magical if we aren’t? Surely we would have noticed?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“Magic is a capricious thing, sometimes. Even in families that are all magical, there can sometimes be born a child with no magic at all, or the opposite, in your case. Did you ever notice peculiar things happening around Hermione when she was younger? Perhaps her toys moving on their own, or things changing color, or childhood scrapes and bruises healing overnight?”

“Hermione has always been a peculiar kid.” Mr. Granger smiled fondly. “But no, nothing like that ever happened that I was aware of.” He turned to his wife, who shook her head, indicating that she had not seen anything either.

“Regardless, the Hogwarts Quill is never wrong, Hermione is a magical child, and as such, should attend Hogwarts this coming year.”

“But Hermione already goes to school,” Emily said. “She’s been making such good progress at Blackwell.”

“If it is tuition you are worried about, Mrs. Granger,” McGonagall said, “Tuition for all muggle born, that is to say, students from non magical families, is set to cost exactly what the family is currently paying for their child’s education. So if Hermione is attending public school, her tuition will be covered in full. If you are paying for her place in a private academy at this time, the tuition you pay for Hogwarts will be the same that you are currently paying there. If your financial situation changes, there is also aid available to cover any burden that the family may feel.”

“That is very generous, Ms. McGonagall,” Daniel said, “but I do not think that Hermione can switch schools right now.”

“Why ever not, Mr. Granger?”

“Hermione is autistic, she receives special education at Blackwell, her current school,” Mrs. Granger jumped in.

“Well, while Hogwarts does not offer any formal art classes, there are plenty of artistic opportunities available for every student to enjoy,” McGonagall replied. “I am certain that any special studies in the arts that Hermione is undertaking can continue at Hogwarts.”

The Granger couple looked shocked again, glanced at eachother, the laughed.

“Hermione’s not ARTistic, she’s AUtistic.” Mrs. Granger stifled her laughter enough to respond.

“Well, she’s artistic also, but that’s not the problem,” Mr. Granger added, wiping at his eye.

“I’m afraid that I don’t quite understand. Is this some sort of non magical study she is undertaking?” McGonagall questioned.

“No, no. Autism is, well, it’s a developmental disorder. Hermione is not a normal child, she gets therapy and additional training at her current school to compensate. Stopping her treatment would have her regress beyond belief,” Mrs. Granger said.

“I see,” McGonagall said, though in a tone that indicated that she did not see at all.

“Do you not know about, you know, autism and other disabilities in your magical world?” Mr. Granger asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I have never encountered any children with such a problem, no. I knew that there were many maladies that muggles are susceptible to, but I assumed that magical children were simply immune to these problems. Or perhaps that their magic cures them, as it can with simple physical injuries,” McGonagall said.

“Then you don’t have any resources in place to give special needs students therapies or training?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“No. Though I have no idea what your therapies and training entail, I doubt that Hogwarts has anything of the sort. Perhaps something can be arranged for your daughter on weekends, a private tutor, perhaps.”

“Hermione cannot attend, then. Like I said, to stop her therapy now, or to turn her over into the hands of, pardon my saying this, but it seems true, a totally inexperienced set of educators, would set her back years of progress,” Mrs. Granger said.

“I’m afraid, Mrs. Granger, that the decision is not up to you. Hermione must choose for herself weather she wants to attend Hogwarts.”

“What do you mean? We’re her parents!” Mr. Granger said.

“Yes, that is true, and I respect that deeply,” McGonagall said, “however, due to the danger of having an untrained magical child loose in the world, magical children must either be given an appropriate magical education, or have their magic bound permanently- making it impossible for them to perform even the smallest bit of spellwork.”

“You would do that to a child?” Mr. Granger asked.

“I am not the writer of this policy, Mr. Granger. And this is why the decision to attend Hogwarts must lie solely with Hermione herself. In the case of muggleborn students, many times the parents would prefer to bind the magic of their children, to keep them at home and away from a world that they know nothing of. Clearly, this vastly limits the child’s future potential, and can cause resentment from the child. So the Ministry of Magic, that is the magical governing body in the UK, has instated a law that says only the child in question can make the decision to attend Hogwarts or not. This is an enforced rule- magical talent is relatively rare, and squashing it is seen as a last resort, especially in children. No one can prevent a new student from coming to Hogwarts who truly wishes to come.”

“But this is a special case, Hermione isn’t qualified to make that kind of decision, she’s only eleven and she’s…” Mrs. Granger waved her hand in the air near her head.

“I understand that, Mrs. Granger, but the law is the law, and in this case, I do feel that Hermione is fully qualified to make this decision. She’s been listening to us the whole time, you know,” McGonagall said. “She’s right in the hall.” At this pronouncement, the Grangers craned their heads to look at the hallway. Hermione had flattened herself against the wall, and still remained mostly invisible.

“You can come out, sweetheart, we’re not mad.” Hermione hesitantly stepped out into the kitchen.

“Hermione, have you been hearing everything that we were saying?” McGonagall asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you need any of it explained to you?”

“Magic is real?”

“Yes, it is, Hermione. And you have a chance to come to Hogwarts to learn it.”

“Think carefully about this, Hermione,” her father said, looking into her face. “Magic sure sounds like fun, but it might be better for you to stay at home and keep learning at school. You like going to school, just think about how happy you are here.” He knew it was a lost cause.

“I knew magic was real.” Hermione said. “I knew the whole time, and no one listened to me.”

“How could we have known, sweetheart?” her mother asked.

“I told you!” Hermione said.

“Hermione, if you choose to come to Hogwarts you can learn to use magic, but if you decide not to come, you will not be able to ever use magic. Think about this choice very carefully- your parents have your best interests at heart,” McGonagall said gently.

Hermione wrung her hands. She looked quickly at her parents then down at her feet.

“I want to do magic,” she said. “I knew it was real.”

Her parents both frowned, her mother heaving a sigh.

“You’re not mad, are you?” Hermione asked, nervously.

“We’re not mad, just not sure you’re making the right decision.” Her father scratched his chin and looked at McGonagall. “What happens now?” he asked.

“We can arrange a date to take Hermione shopping for school supplies in Diagon Alley- it’s like a wizarding hub- and term starts on September first. Hermione should arrive at Kings Cross before eleven, that’s when the train to Hogwarts leaves. Other than that, I can be contacted with any questions you may have by sending a letter to the address on the envelope you received. We usually don’t use the muggle system, but for incoming students it’s sometimes helpful for the parents to be able to contact the school without buying an owl.”

“An owl?” Emily asked.

“Ah, yes, most post in the wizarding world is sent by carrier owl. It’s very reliable, but we can’t expect all incoming students to have one already.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Granger said quietly.

“When will we be going to this, uh, Diagon Alley?” Mr. Granger asked.

“Whenever you like. It is usually better to go closer to the start of the term, to avoid accidents with accidental wand use.”

“How about August 27th?” Mr. Granger suggested, mentally checking his schedule.

“That is perfectly acceptable. If you can make your way to Kings Cross station by noon on the 27th, I can show you how to access the Hogwarts train platform, and from there we can walk to Diagon Alley, which is not far,” McGonagall said.

“Ok,” said a rather shell shocked sounding Emily. “Hermione, say thank you to Ms. McGonagall for coming.”

“Thank you Ms. McGonagall,” Hermione parroted the words, but her eyes were bright as she looked at the stern woman, who was standing up out of her chair.

“You are very welcome, Ms. Granger. I look forward to having you as a student in September.” She smiled kindly down at the nervous girl. “I will see you all on the 27th- thank you very much for your time.”

McGonagall was quietly escorted out the door of the house, shaking hands with the two Granger parents on the stoop. After making her goodbyes, she stepped a few feet away and vanished with a loud pop.


	2. Diagon Alley

The morning of August 27 rolled around with the usual slow droning that accompanies the end of summer. Cars crawled sleepily down hazy hot streets still under cover of darkness, sprinklers misted the lawns of houses as their occupants slept, and birds winged dreamily through the air to perch and sing invisibly on trees. Amid all that hazy, dreamy, muggy energy, one being was coiled tight as a spring.

Hermione Granger sat on her bed, legs dangling over the sides, bouncing up and down. All for the best that her parents had their bedroom on the top floor of the house and she had the small bedroom on the ground floor, otherwise all the bouncing she did would have quickly driven them insane while trying to sleep. It was far earlier than any self respecting eleven year old would have wanted to get up, but Hermione had been up for several hours already. She had packed and unpacked her backpack several times, checking and double checking the contents that she was sure to need on her first ever trip to the wizarding world.

In the front pocket of her backpack, she had securely tucked the supply list that had come with the Hogwarts acceptance letter. She had read its contents probably a hundred times, but she was still making sure that she had the list to physically check off each item as it was purchased. She also put her school planner in her backpack, just so that she would be able to write down any things that she needed to do. She had a book, in case she got bored (Diane Duane’s So You Want to be a Wizard, which seemed fitting). Her big ear protectors, in case it was loud, took up prime real estate in the biggest backpack pocket- she would definitely be wearing those at the train station if trains came and went. She also had a couple of her favorite granola bars squirreled away, and a big water bottle that she had made sure was full and clean. As all schoolbags tend to be, the bottoms of the compartments were littered with pens, pencils, erasers, and random collected objects- Hermione deemed that they all could stay, being that it would be too much of a mess to clean them out, and besides, what if she needed them later.

She had tried to keep room for all the school books she would be buying, and all the other school supplies as well, but the backpack was small and was already looking a little full. She hoped that she would be getting a newer, bigger one for the upcoming magical school year. Well, even if she didn’t, the one she had sitting on her lap was totally respectable, being a plain and sturdy navy blue. And maybe, as her parents often said, it was better to keep the bag small rather than getting a big one, since she had a tendency to fill any container she was given with as much stuff as possible, which her parents worried would hurt her back. Hermione was trying to get better about this. She had a “school supplies backpack checklist” taped to her bedroom door, and every morning she would go through the list and make sure that she had those items and only those items (school book(s), notebook, pen, pencil, homework folder and homework, water bottle, lunch box, planner, ear protectors, and one fun item) packed away. Her mother would still check to make sure. Hermione didn’t object, it was better than forgetting something important like she had done many, many times.

But! Today was not a school day, so Hermione had done her best to pack appropriately. She had gotten up early to do so, but she realized that this might have been a little too early. So she waited, as patiently as she could, for her parents to wake up. When she heard her parents’ alarm clock beep upstairs, Hermione began the rest of her morning routine.

Step one: get out of bed. Luckily, since she had been up with excitement and nervousness packing her backpack, this step was already done.

Step two: get dressed. Hermione took off her pajamas (really just one of her father’s old tee shirts) and put them as neatly as possible into her dresser drawer. She changed her underwear, pulled out a pair of jeans (truly an all purpose clothing item) and her favorite tee shirt, which had a picture of a large, red cat on the front of it. With some concentration, Hermione managed to get her shirt and pants on her body, facing the right direction.

Next would come step three, packing her backpack with all the things that lived in her room (everything except her lunch box). Hermionie was happy to note that she had already done that, as well, but still gave the backpack a last once over for good measure. All appearing to be in order, she opened her bedroom door and placed the backpack right outside in the hallway. Then she stepped out of her room, turned the light off, and shut the door. That was it for room activities. If she didn’t shut the door, she might get distracted and go back to bed, but the routine let her shut the door and not get distracted.

After leaving her room, she headed to the bathroom. Use the toilet, that’s easy enough. Brushing teeth is a little harder- the toothpaste tastes unpleasant and the bristles of the toothbrush hurt her gums, but it’s a necessary evil. In theory, Hermione was also supposed to brush her hair, but most of the time she simply tied it into a puff on the back of her head as neatly as she could. Hair brushing was more work than it was worth, in her opinion, and if she could get by with less, she certainly would try.

Breakfast came after bathroom, so Hermione wandered into the kitchen. She ate the same thing for breakfast every day, so it had been easy enough for her parents to teach her how to make it herself. Hermione checked the amount of water in the electric kettle, filled it up to the ‘max’ mark, and pushed the button to start it. While the water heated, she found the instant oatmeal and the cinnamon sugar. She also got out a cup, bowl, and spoon. In the fridge, she located the milk. Last but not least, she pulled a banana from the hand on the counter. Water boiling, she poured oatmeal and water together into the bowl, which she stirred together. A healthy sprinkling of cinnamon sugar on top finished it off, and she brought everything to the table to eat it.

The nice thing about eating breakfast alone, Hermione figured, was that no one would be able to bother her about table manners. She could hit the bowl with her spoon to make nice noises, she could wiggle in her seat, and she could eat in whatever order and at whatever pace she wanted to. She wouldn’t even get in trouble if she spilled something by accident, as long as she cleaned it up before anyone came down and saw. Much more pleasant than lunch at school, or even dinner with her family.

Breakfast finished, Hermione had plenty of time to kill before it was time to go, so she moved into the living room and curled up on the couch to read a book. She heard her mother shower, then her father, and her mother came downstairs, fully dressed.

“Good morning sweetiepie,” her mother said. “Excited for your big day today?”

Hermione nodded and smiled. Her mother patted her head and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“I’m headed off to work, now. Like we said last night, dad will be taking you, and you can tell me all about it when you get back home.”

“Ok,” Hermione said. “Have a nice day at work.”

“I will- and you try to have a good time getting your school supplies.”

“Did you check my backpack?” Hermione asked.

“I did, looks all set. Good job. Did you eat your breakfast already?”

“Yes.”

“You must have gotten up so early! Well, better to be up and ready to start the day than being a sleepyhead in bed, right?”

“I’m up and ready.”

“That you are.” Hermione’s mum smiled. “Ok, see you tonight!”

“See you tonight.”

Hermione returned to her book as her mother left the room. Upstairs, she heard her dad puttering around getting ready for the day. It was about nine in the morning. The car started in the driveway and Hermione listened as it pulled away from the house, headed to her parent’s dental practice.

It was a little while longer before her father made it down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Hermione,” her dad said as he made himself a cup of tea. “Did you eat breakfast already?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied.

“Do you want any tea?”

“No, thank you.” Her parents always asked asked if she wanted tea, but Hermione thought it was a joke, since they knew very well that she didn’t like to drink hot beverages. Maybe it was just politeness to ask, but she couldn’t be sure.

As her father prepared his breakfast and tea, she watched him in the kitchen out of the corner of her eye. The kitchen was in full view of the living room, but she was still more intent on reading her book than paying attention to him, she just liked to know what was going on. He poured himself some cereal and sat down to eat. Hermione did her best to block out the noise of him chewing, she hated that sound.

“Glad to have the day off from school, Hermione?”

“This whole week is off,” she replied idly. Hermione went to school year round, with a few week long breaks at regular intervals.

“I know, but are you especially excited to have today off?”

“I’m excited to go to Diagon Alley. Having the day off from school is the same as having yesterday and tomorrow off.”

“You’re a funny one.”

“Ok.” Hermione turned a page in her book.

“We’ve got a couple hours to kill before we have to meet up with, uh, I guess I shouldn’t call her Ms. McGonagall, she’s probably actually called Professor McGonagall, at the train station. Is there anything you want to do before we go there?”

“What are the choices?”

“It’s up to you, sweetheart- this is your day.”

“Go to the park.”

“Ok, we can go to the park- it looks like a nice day out. Good choice.” Hermione nodded happily. “Let me finish my breakfast, and then we can get going. Are you all ready?”

“Yes. Not my shoes.”

“Well put your socks and shoes on- I’ll be done in a second and we can walk to the park.” Hermione sat up, put the book she was reading on the coffee table, and went to get her socks and shoes on. Because Hermione liked to spend as much time barefoot as possible, her socks were kept in a basket next to the door, as were her shoes. She struggled to get them on and by the time she had succeeded, her dad was standing behind her, backpack in hand.

“Do you really need this?” he asked, holding up her backpack. She nodded, and took it, putting it on her back.

“We’re going to have to take the bus to Kings Cross since your mum took the car. Is that ok?” Hermione shrugged in answer.

“Alright, let’s go.” Her dad said, holding open the door.

The two spent a pleasant morning at the park, her father reading a newspaper with Hermione swinging happily on the swingset and watching the birds that gathered by the small pond.

The two took the bus to Kings Cross, having to make a few transfers, but still arriving by eleven forty five. It had been a relaxing morning, but Hermione was still anxious to get going, even when it seemed like she was already there. Her father noticed this, and kept her small hand in his large one.

“I’m sure Professor McGonagall will be here soon. We’re only a couple minutes early.”

“Ok.”

The pair waited on a bench outside the station, and indeed Professor McGonagall did appear, wearing a similar outfit to the last time the two had seen her- a prim brown dress. Her hair was pulled back into a stiff bun, and she walked with a no nonsense air. Hermione’s father spotted her first, and waved her over.

“Pleasure to see you again, Mr. Granger, Hermione,” McGonagall said, smiling kindly at the small, bouncing girl.

“Good to see you again, as well,” Mr. Granger said. “What was it you wanted to show us at the station? I think Hermione is anxious to get going.”

“We’ll be on our way soon. Here, I need to show you how to get onto the Hogwarts train platform- it does not leave from the same place as the rest of the non-magical trains.”

“How odd,” Hermione’s father said, following McGonagall inside. They walked towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten.

“This is where one can enter Platform Nine and Three Quarters- you simply run at the barrier, and it will allow you to pass through. I will demonstrate,” McGonagall said, catching the nervous look Hermione shot at the seemingly solid brick wall.

McGonagall took a few short steps at a brisk pace, headed straight for the wall, and disappeared silently. After a moment, she reappeared the same way. Hermione’s father, still unused to magic, looked shocked. Hermione bounced up and down.

“I want to try,” she said.

“Go ahead- it’s just an empty platform right now, but it’s best that you have no fear about the mechanism,” McGonagall said, as Hermione’s father let go of her hand. “To get back, just run through the wall again- but it’s marked on the other side, so no need to worry about getting lost.”

Hermione nodded and charged headlong at the barrier, shutting her eyes as tightly as possible. She felt a wave of cold passing over her, and she opened her eyes, finding on herself on an identical, but completely deserted train platform. She spun around on her toes and walked back towards the wall. Experimentally, she put her hand out towards it, and was surprised when she met a solid force. Feeling a little panicked, she leaned her whole body on it, and it held her up.

Hermione stopped to think about this for a second. Possibly, the wall was enchanted to only allow people to pass through it at a run, otherwise people just leaning against the platform would fall through. This would obviously be a problem. Hermione backed up, and took a deep breath, closing her eyes again. Gathering her courage, she ran towards the wall again. With some relief, she felt the same wave of cold that she had felt before while passing through, and was even more relieved at the absence of the feeling of crashing into the wall.

“Where’ve you been, sweetheart? That took more than a moment,” her dad asked with some concern.

“On the other platform. It only works when you go through fast.”

“Excellent observation, Hermione. Do you want to hazard a guess as to why?”

“So people leaning on the wall don’t fall through.” McGonagall smiled.

“Very good. If we were at school, I would give you house points- five for the bravery to try running at a wall you had already deemed solid, and five for giving a good reason why it is that way.”

“What are house points?” her father asked.

“At Hogwarts,” McGonagall explained, as the trio made their way out of the station and onto the busy London streets, “there are four houses, and all students are sorted into them based on their personality at the beginning of their first year. Students can earn or lose points for their house throughout the year. For example, answering questions correctly in class can earn students points, and breaking rules can lose them. Unfortunately, as we are not yet in school, and Hermione has not been sorted yet, I cannot yet award points.”

“What are the houses?” Hermione asked, curious.

“Ah, thank you for asking, Hermione.” McGonagall smiled. “I am the head of Gryffindor House, which is known for its bravery. The other three houses are Ravenclaw, which is the house that values knowledge and learning; Hufflepuff, the house of loyalty and hard work; and Slytherin, the house of cunning and often successful people.”

“Which house would you want to be in?” Hermione’s father asked her.

“I don’t know.” Hermione said. “They all seem good.”

“Yes, they are,” McGonagall said. “All the houses have qualities that are admirable and required for the world to run. Don’t worry about which house you will be sorted in- it doesn’t determine your future, just your roommates for the next few years. Though,” McGonagall paused, “I can’t help but say that I would be happy to have you in my house- you would make a fine addition to Gryffindor.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, somewhat confused at the praise.

“Ah, here we are.” The trio had been walking down London streets, and they paused in front of a somewhat grimy looking pub. “The Leaky Cauldron.”

“We stopping for a drink, Professor?” Hermione’s father joked.

“Ah, no. Just like at Kings Cross, this is an entrance to the magical world. Let’s go in- I need to stop in the loo to change into something more fitting, and the entrance is in the back.”

They all entered the dimly lit pub, and McGonagall was greeted warmly by the bartender before stopping into the restroom. She emerged wearing long blue robes. Seeing the Grangers’ questioning looks she explained.

“Robes are the standard wizarding attire- it’s what most people wear in the magical world. You will of course need to acquire a set for your school uniform. I simply do not want to wear this in the muggle world or my muggle clothes in the wizarding world- in each place the wrong clothing stands out like a sore thumb.” Mr. Granger shrugged, accepting the idea that he and his daughter in their mundane clothing would have to stand out for the day. This was nothing new to the Grangers- they often looked odd.

“Come along, Ms. Granger, Mr. Granger. The entrance is in the back.” They followed her to a brick wall. Hermione made ready to run through it, but it was lucky that her father was holding her hand.

“Ah, no, Ms. Granger. This one opens with a wand tap- it’s much more convenient.” The old witch took out her wand and tapped the bricks in specific places, causing the wall to move aside.

The three stepped forwards into a magical world, literally. The sunny sky above remained the same, but all the buildings had an odd look about them. Most looked older than the ones on the regular street they had just left, and many leaned in odd ways. Everywhere they looked, witches and wizards wearing robes of every color walked down the street. The shop displays were beautiful, exciting, and blinding. McGonagall allowed the Grangers to look around, before gesturing for them to follow her.

“Where do we need to go first?” Mr. Granger asked, seemingly overwhelmed with the possibilities.

“We will have to stop at the bank, Gringotts, to change your money,” McGonagall said. “This way.”

“Wait, wizards don’t use normal currency?” Mr. Granger asked, shocked.

“Yes. Although nominally the wizarding government answers to the top levels of the muggle government, it is really more like going to a foreign country. Luckily, the language is the same,” McGonagall said dryly. She led them towards the huge marble edifice that was Gringotts. Hermione stared at the ominous inscription on the doors, but McGonagall paused before holding the door for them.

“You can change money here, you will probably need the equivalent of three hundred pounds, to be safe. But before we go in, I must warn you that Gringotts is staffed by goblins. Please be polite, do not touch anything that isn’t yours, and don’t stare, for Merlin’s sake. Are you ready?” The Grangers nodded, Hermionie already peering curiously through the glass panels on the doors. McGonagall held open the door, and the Grangers passed into the huge lobby of the bank.

They walked up to the wall of tellers and waited in the shortest line for a few minutes as other witches and wizards went about their business.

“What is your business here?” The goblin at the teller station asked as the Grangers and McGonagall approached.

“I would like to change muggle currency to wizarding currency, please, Mr… ,” Mr. Granger looked at the nameplate on the goblin’s desk, “…Mr. Goldshot.”

Goldshot nodded, and Mr. Granger handed over three, hundred pound notes. He had been prepared to spend cash shopping, which was a good thing.

“One moment, please.” Goldshot slid off the stool he was apparently sitting on behind the desk. The opening and closing of drawers could be heard. From behind the desk, the short goblin spoke. “I will be giving you 99 galleons and nine sickles. For seven sickles I can provide a money bag that will make the transportation of your gold significantly easier.”

Mr. Granger looked at McGonagall, who nodded. “Yes, please, include the bag.”

A moment later, Goldshot popped back up, holding a small cloth bag. “Here is your money, sir.”

“Thank you very much,” Mr. Granger said, and the three humans moved away from the desk and out of Gringotts.

Just outside the bank, McGonagall inspected the bag.

“The tag will show you how much money is currently in the bag, look.” She held up a small bronze tag on the bag that did indeed say ‘99G, 2S’. “When you reach in, you will be able to feel three different compartments- one for galleons, one for sickles, one for knuts. Galleons are the gold ones, sickles are the silver ones, and knuts are the small bronze ones. The conversion is twenty nine knuts to a sickle, and seventeen sickles to a galleon.”

“Pardon me for saying so, but that’s a horrible conversion,” Mr. Granger sputtered.

“I don’t disagree with you,” McGonagall said, “but it’s never going to change, so we might as well learn to live with it.” She looked down at Hermione, who shrugged noncommittally.

“Hermione is good at math, at least, so she won’t have a problem with it, though I certainly am glad I don’t have to deal with this on a regular basis,” Mr. Granger grumbled. “Where to next?”

“Madame Malkins, for robes, I should think. That way they can be prepared while we do the rest of the shopping.” McGonagall led the way away from the bank and further down the street, stopping in front of a shop displaying fancy robes in the windows- robes of painted silk, robes on which diagrams of the planets moved realistically (though quickly) around the sun, outdoor robes that claimed to be water repelling, and many others. They stepped inside the shop, which seemed to be fairly empty, and a bell above the door chimed out a short melody rather than jingling.

A short and chubby salesgirl came out at the sound of the bell from the backroom.

“Oh, hello Professor Mcgonagall! New Hogwarts student?” the salesgirl asked.

“Yes, this is Ms. Granger, Ms. Granger, this is Elizabeth Cattingly, she graduated from Hogwarts just a few years ago.” Elizabeth smiled.

“What can I get you, today? Just Hogwarts robes?” Mr. Granger looked around in a little bit of confusion.

“Is there anything other than the Hogwarts uniform that we should consider getting? I’m a little new at this,” he said.

“No worries at all, Mr. Granger, right?” Mr. Granger nodded. “Well, aside from the standard set of robes- three everyday robes should be fine, one hat, mmm the gloves you’ll want to get at the apothecary, you need a winter cloak, for sure. You might want other winter clothes, too- a hat, gloves, scarf, boots, unless you’d like to bring those from home. Oh, and shoes for every day use, probably. Trainers don’t look so nice underneath robes. And socks, those are important. The biggest question is if you want to wear muggle clothing underneath your robes, or if you want to buy under robe clothes from here.” Hermione was looking around, rather overwhelmed. She didn’t even notice when a tape measure began zooming around taking her measurements.

“Um. I guess we’ll take the standard Hogwarts robes- the three sets, hat, and outdoor cloak. And one set of under robe clothes, Hermione will probably prefer to wear her regular clothing, but might as well try it. One pair of shoes. And seven pairs of socks and underwear. We can bring the rest from home. Is that alright with you, Hermione?”

Hermione looked up at her father and shrugged.

“Then, yes, that’s what we’ll go with I think.” He looked at McGonagall, who nodded in approval.

“Perfect. Hermione, you just stand there and get measured up, I’ll ring your dad up over at the register.” McGonagall stood with Hermione, who had noticed the tape measure and was watching it with fascination. Mr. Granger made his way with Elizabeth to the register, who wrote up a receipt for him.

“That will be twenty six galleons and twelve sickles,” Elizabeth said. Mr. Granger dug through the money bag the goblins had given him and pulled out the appropriate amount of money. Elizabeth took the money, gave him five sickles in change and the receipt. “Thank you very much, for your business. Look, here on the receipt, you can come pick these up when the counter hits zero. Probably around five.”

“Thank you.” Mr. Granger turned to go back to his daughter. The tape measure had apparently finished what it was doing, and flew away.

“Well, that was a lot less painful than I expected when I heard we were going to be clothing shopping, right, Hermione?”

“Didn’t have to try anything on.”

“Magic certainly does make many things easier, Mr. Granger.” McGonagall motioned to the door. “Let’s go to get your wand, next, Hermione.”

They left Madame Malkins and made their way further down the street to a shop with a sign that said Ollivander’s. The bell rang as they walked in, a normal chime this time.

The shop was dark, small, and somewhat dusty. There was a single desk at the far end, and the walls were covered in shelves filled with thin boxes, presumably containing wands. A door in the back, presumably leading to a workroom, opened, and an old man came out.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “It’s good to see you again, Minerva. Nine and a half inches, fir and dragon heartstring, isn’t it. Holding up well?”

“It is, thank you, Ollivander. This is Hermione Granger, she’s here to get a wand for Hogwarts.”

“A muggleborn, eh?” Ollivander looked Hermione over. “Some potential, for sure. Let’s see…”

He walked over to one of the shelves and pulled a few boxes off, seemingly at random, but Hermione was sure that he knew what he was doing.

“Let’s try these, and we’ll see what works and what doesn’t.”

“How do I try these?” Hermione asked, opening the first box that Ollivander handed to her.

“Just pick it up and wave it. You will know when one feels right, trust me,” McGonagall said fondly. Hermione obeyed, taking the long, white wand that was in the box. It felt cool in her hand, and she was about to wave it when Ollivander snatched it back. She jumped, shocked.

“Certainly not this one. Here.” He handed her another box, a stubby black wand. She gave it an experimental wave, but nothing happened.

“No, no…” Ollivander took that wand back, handed her father a stack, said “Have her try these ones,” and went to go scour the shelves for other wands.

Hermione went through wand after wand. Nothing happened with any she touched, and she was beginning to worry if she wasn’t magical after all. As if sensing her thoughts, Ollivander smiled.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find one for you yet. There are plenty of people who take a long time to find the right wand- the wand chooses the wizard after all.” Ollivander continued to pull out wand boxes as he spoke, and the pile of ‘tried’ wands kept growing.

Ollivander handed her another box. “Here, this one might work.”

Hermione opened the lid, expecting disappointment, and pulled out the wand. As her fingers brushed it, a tingling warmth rushed through her, and she swung the wand through the air, sending off an enthusiastic rainbow of sparks.

“Beautiful, beautiful!” Ollivander said happily. “Ten and three quarter inches, vine and dragon heartstring. Good for a resilient and adaptable witch.”

“Thank you,” said Hermione. She examined the wand with care, running her fingers over its entire length as if to memorize it.

“I’m sure it will serve you well.” Ollivander walked up to the register. “That will be seven galleons.” Mr. Granger paid and thanked Ollivander, and McGonagall ushered them out of the shop.

“Now for the rest of your school supplies, Ms. Granger. Are you going to be needing a trunk?”

“No, we have a suitcase she can use.” McGonagall nodded.

“That will eliminate one stop, then. Are you going to be getting a pet for your time at Hogwarts?” Hermione looked up at her father with a pleading look in her eyes.

“Please can I get a cat?” Hermione asked.

“Absolutely not. We will think about it if we feel like you have had a good school year this year, and are responsible enough to take care of one.” To McGonagall, he said, “We shouldn’t even stop in whatever the pet shop is, in case she turns her puppy dog eyes on me. I might not be able to resist.”

McGonagall stifled a smile. “Very well, then. The only places we will need to stop will be Flourish and Blots for your textbooks, quills, and ink. We’ll need to go to Potage’s Cauldron shop as well. But we can get some lunch at Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor before we make those stops- you’re both probably peckish- they sell sandwiches there as well as icecream.” Mr. Granger nodded with relief at this pronouncement. The shopping had been going well, but lunchtime had slipped by, and he was not particularly looking forward until waiting for dinner.

The three did indeed get lunch at Fortescue’s, and then continued on to the other shops mentioned. Cauldron and telescope shopping went off without a hitch, but the bookstore was a world of distraction for Hermione, who wanted to pull every book of the shelves and look at them. She was only stopped by the shortness of funds, the lateness of the hour, and the fact that someone was already going to have to carry all her books back with her. Her father allowed her to pick one extra book, and Professor McGonagall suggested that she buy Hogwarts: A History, which Hermione happily did.

With all school supplies taken care of, Hermione carried most of her books in her backpack, while her father carried everything else inside the unwieldy little cauldron. They stopped back at Madame Malkin’s to pick up Hermione’s completed clothes, which were also placed inside the cauldron.

Their shopping trip was coming to an end. McGonagall led them towards the Leaky Cauldron, to allow them to exit the alley, but she glanced at Mr. Granger and Hermione’s tired faces and arms full of magical items.

“Ah, this won’t do at all. You were planning on taking the bus back?” she asked. “Usually people drive.”

“Yes, my wife has the car today,” Mr. Granger said.

“Well we can’t very well have you going out in public with all of this. Would you mind if I apparated you back to your home?”

“What’s that?” Hermione asked, curious. She was glad of anything that would allow her to avoid the loud, crowded, bumpy public bus.

“Apparition is an advanced form of magical transportation- you disappear from one place and reappear in another. Students learn it and earn their license after they turn seventeen. I can carry the both of you along, it would save you from an awkward bus trip.”

“That’s very generous of you, thank you.” Mr. Granger almost sighed with relief.

“Very well, both of you, let me take your arms.” McGonagall grasped the upper arms of the two Grangers and disappeared with a pop.

They reappeared inside the kitchen of the Granger home, Hermione feeling more than a little dizzy. She promptly sat down on the floor.

“Are you alright, Hermione?” her father asked.

“Just dizzy,” Hermione said.

“That happens to some people, with experience she will probably get over it,” McGonagall explained.

“Thank you for taking us shopping- and for bringing us home. Is there anything that I can get you? Some tea or something?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Granger- I should be returning home myself. Thank you for paying for my lunch, it certainly was not necessary.”

“Well it wasn’t necessary for you to save us a bus fare either- I think we’re even.” Mr. Granger stuck out his hand for McGonagall to shake. “It’s been a pleasure. Hermione, say thank you to Professor McGonagall.”

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall.”

“You are very welcome, Hermione. I look forward to seeing you on September first at Hogwarts. Mr. Granger, if you ever need any help with the magical world, please do not hesitate to contact me or whoever Hermione’s head of house ends up being. Hermione can pass on letters to us, or you can send an owl if you get one for your family.”

“I will certainly do that,” Mr. Granger said. “Are you going to, uh, apparate, again?”

“I am indeed, Mr. Granger. Until next time.” She smiled at the pair of them.

“Goodbye, Professor,” Hermione said from the floor. McGonagall stepped a few steps back, and then vanished with a pop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of these things I should have included in the notes for the first chapter, but I was a little distracted. so here are some more comprehensive notes
> 
> -I'm autistic, so this is sort of an interpretation of Hermione's character through my experience, and my experience meeting other autistic people in educational settings. I certainly don't want to make Hermione a mirror of myself, but I think that there are definitely aspects to her canon character that would point to her being autistic, this is just me taking those aspects and running with them, as is the purpose of fanfiction :)   
> -the problem with schooling is that it can either really help a person or really mess them up, or sometimes a weird combination of both. I think this goes double for anyone neurodivergent, and usually leans more towards the 'really mess them up' side of things. but rest assured this will not be a story of Hermione getting chewed up and mistreated by Hogwarts, I think that there are plenty of ways for things to go well for her :)  
> \- I didn't even realize this but this is april, the worst month for autistic ppl. well happy april anyway  
> \- I shamelessly ripped off Hermione's parents names from other fanfictions that I have read- I don't think that Daniel and Emily are canon names at all (at least according to the HP wikia) but they seem to be widely used in fanfic, so I decided to just go with it. thanks @ whoever first came up with them  
> -I used this website to convert from GBP to wizarding currency, thanks random website http://www.beyondhogwarts.com/cgi-bin/gringotts.cgi . of course, as all fanfic writers must do, I sorta just made up values for what things should cost. @jkr your wizarding currency is an absolute mess and makes no sense
> 
> anyway, things to look forward to in the next chapter: hermione takes the hogwarts express, meets some new friends and enemies


	3. Trevor and the Train

The days until the start of the term rolled by quickly for Hermione. She had the rest of the week off from her non magical school, so she had plenty of time to set around and read, which she took advantage of. Her father had taken the week off as well, to look after her, and they spent much of the time sitting and reading in companionable silence, watching cartoons, and taking walks to the park- Hermione’s favored activities.

She could tell that her parents were anxious about her leaving. Every time they had to give her instructions, they would preface things they said with some sort of advice.

“Remember, Hermione, when you’re at school you need to always be polite while eating, you can’t be a bother at meals,” her mother would say.

“Hermione, you won’t be able to walk around school barefoot, so you had better get used to keeping your shoes on.”

Hermione would nod at these and many, many other pronouncements. Every piece of advice they had given had been heard hundreds of times before, simply couched in less friendly language. After all, when she played with her food at the lunch table at school, it would get taken away. When she took her shoes off at school, she wouldn’t be allowed to get up until she had them back on. It was all the same.

But the day had finally come for her to leave. She stood at the entrance to platform nine and three quarters, her parents hugging her one last time. She was dragging her massive green suitcase behind her- she would have sworn that she could probably curl up inside it if it had been empty, it was that large.

Her mother kissed her on the forehead.

“Please remember to write to us, sweetheart.”

“I will, I promise.” Hermione automatically reached up to rub the place where her mother had kissed her, the feeling vaguely unpleasant. Her mother frowned.

“And remember to shower, and brush your teeth, and your hair.”

“I will, mum,” Hermione said.

“We’ll miss you so much,” her father said, trying to smile. “I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time at school, please make some friends.”

“Ok.”

“Here,” her father said, holding out a fat envelope. Hermione took it. “Please give this to your head of house as soon as you can, ok?”

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

“It’s a letter, it tells them how to help you,” her father explained vaguely. “Please don’t open it, I don’t want all the papers falling out and getting lost.”

“Ok.”

“I guess you should get going, and go get on the train, sweetheart.” Her mother was wiping her eyes. “Do you want us to come through with you?”

“I can do it.” Hermione took the handle of her suitcase in her hand again.

“Let us give you a hug, sweetheart.”

“Ok.” Her parents both took turns hugging her tightly, and then standing up to watch her go.

“Have a good semester, we’ll see you at Christmas!”

Hermione turned at that, and began to run, yanking her suitcase behind her, backpack on her back, curly hair bobbing wildly. She shut her eyes as she approached the barrier, hoping that it would once again allow her to pass. The familiar wave of cold hit her, and she sighed with relief, again finding herself on the magical train platform.

This time, however, instead of being deserted, the platform was full of people wearing robes of all different colors, shouting, hugging, and rushing on and off the huge red train that stood waiting.

Hermione grimaced at the noise, and immediately stopped walking and took off her backpack. It was far too noisy. She fished out her huge headphones and put them on. Immediately, the noise of the world receded to a more manageable level, and she could take stock of her surroundings.

Clearly, she was meant to get onto the train. Her family had been left behind on the other side of the wall, so she had no need to say goodbye to anyone here. She didn’t need to talk to any of the parents of other students, she didn’t know them at all. She put her backpack back on, and began hauling her heavy suitcase towards the train.

She made it to a set of doors, but was immediately confronted by the fact that her huge suitcase would be an immense pain to get onto the train. She tried shoving it every which way, pushing it, pulling it, wedging it sideways, but there was no way she was going to be able to get it up the stairs without disaster.

A wave of panic washed over her, as she saw that she was blocking the door that other people would need to use. Hermione started to try to yank her suitcase away from the train as a boy about her age and an old woman wearing an absurd hat approached.

“Do you need any help, dear?” the old woman asked. Hermione looked in a panic at her stuck suitcase and the old woman. She opened her mouth to try to talk, but nothing came out. “First year?”

The old woman took her wand out of her robes and cast a spell that Hermione couldn’t quite hear. Her trunk immediately lifted off the ground and made its way safely into the train. Hermione gasped.

“Thank you!” she managed to squeak out.

“No trouble at all. My grandson Neville,” she gestured to the pudgy boy standing next to her, “is also a first year. Neville, you can sit with her on the train. What’s your name, dear?”

“Hermione, Hermione Granger.”

“Well, Hermione, a pleasure to meet you.” The woman turned to her grandson. “You have a good year at Hogwarts, Neville. I’ll see you at Christmas.”

The boy awkwardly launched himself at the old woman, hugging her midsection. She stood awkwardly for a moment, stiffly patting the boy’s head.

“Alright, Neville, get on the train.” At this pronouncement, though not intended for her, Hermione hurried up onto the train to reclaim her wayward suitcase. Neville followed suit.

Hermione made her way down the train, finally finding an empty cabin. She pulled open the door and entered, still dragging her suitcase behind her. She realized that there was going to be no way that she would be able to hoist it onto the upper shelves above the seats, so she just leaned it against the window.

Neville, who had been quietly following her, also entered the cabin. In what looked like Hermione to be a shocking feat of strength, he lifted his large trunk above his head and put it in the overhead bins.

“My gran charmed it to be featherlight for me,” he said, seeing her shocked expression. “I’m not really that strong, I swear. Are you a muggleborn?” Hermione nodded.

“Sorry about your suitcase and my gran just taking charge like that, she can be a little bossy sometimes, but she’s nice.”

“It’s ok. I couldn’t get it onto the train.”

“How heavy is it?” Neville experimentally lifted the suitcase, before dropping it with a bang. “I’m surprised you could even get it from the door to the train, it weighs a ton!”

“It’s easier to roll it than it is to pick it up, that’s why it has wheels.”

“Muggles have the weirdest stuff.” Hermione shrugged at this pronouncement.

She made herself comfortable on one of the seats and, noticing that the train was much quieter than the platform, took off her headset and put it back in her backpack.

“What were you wearing those for? It’s not cold out.”

“They’re not earmuffs, they’re for when it’s too loud,” Hermione explained. “I have very sensitive ears.”

“Well it’s nice you’ve got a pair- my gran says that we’ll all need them in Herbology when we plant mandrakes- they yell.”

“What are mandrakes?” Hermione asked.

“They’re these plants with really big mouths- you can use them in lots of potions, especially ones to wake people up, but they’re dangerous to grow so not many people bother.”

“Do you like herbology?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s my favorite subject- my gran has greenhouses and lets me plant whatever I want. It’s the best.” Neville smiled as he said this, thinking fondly about his plants. “I’m pretty much rot at everything else, though, I’m only good with plants.”

“That’s ok- I’m pretty much not good at anything,” Hermione said. “Well, I haven’t been to magical school before, at all.”

“Maybe we’ll be in the same house, then, and can help eachother out.” Neville held out his hand, and Hermione reached across the cabin to shake it. “Nice to meet you, Hermione,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, too, Neville.”

It was at that moment that the train blew a loud whistle that made Hermione clap her hands to her ears and a huge jolt. Neville peered out the window as the train started moving.

“Looks like my gran already left,” he said. “Are your parents at the station?”

“They didn’t come through the barrier,” Hermione replied.

“Well, I guess neither of us have to wave at anyone.” Neville looked out the window anyway, watching as the train left the station, pulling through a long tunnel lit by flickering lights. The train gathered speed, though how much speed, no one could tell, since the tunnel was an unknown length. Eventually, Neville got bored of this and sat back in his seat.

“What house do you think you’re going to be in?” he asked Hermione.

“I don’t know.” She paused to think for a moment. “I read Hogwarts: A History to learn about them. Maybe Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. But it’s hard to know.”

“Thought you said you weren’t good at things!” Neville said, confused. “Ravenclaw?”

“The book said you don’t have to be smart, just interested in learning.” Hermione shrugged.

“I guess. I’ll probably be in Hufflepuff. My gran says I’m a hard worker, so that’s where I’ll be I suppose. She wants me to be in Gryffindor like my dad was, but I don’t think I’m brave enough.”

“It’s hard to know how brave you are in a situation that needs bravery.”

“True, I guess,” Neville said.

“Do you know how we get sorted?” Hermione asked.

“No, everyone likes to keep it a secret.” Neville shook his head. “I heard some people on the train platform saying that we might have to fight a troll.”

“A troll?”

“Big, nasty, things. They grunt and carry big tree branches to hit people with.” Neville gestured to try to illustrate what a troll looked like, but Hermione still looked confused.

“If they’re so big, how are we supposed to fight them?”

“I don’t actually think that we have to fight a troll. What would that even prove?” Neville muttered. “It’s too dangerous, anyway. It’s probably something simple.”

“I hope it’s something simple. I don’t know enough about magic to do anything- I was told we couldn’t practice at home.”

“Yeah, there’s the restriction against underage magic use,” Neville said. “It’s not really fair.”

“What’s not fair? My parents said it’s to keep me safe.”

“Well, that’s it’s purpose, but magic use is tracked by location, not by person. So people whose parents do magic can do magic all they want at home, because it will look like their parents are doing it.”

“Did you get to do magic at home?” Hermione asked.

“Well my gran had me try a few simple spells, just to see, but I’m really rubbish at magic, like I said.” Neville shook his head. “My gran is more fair than most. She doesn’t want me doing any magic without supervision, and it’s not like I can, anyway.” Hermione shrugged at this pronouncement.

“You can get good at anything if you work at it.”

“If you say so.” Neville shuffled in his seat, searching for a way to divert the conversation. “Do you have a pet?”

“I wanted a cat, I love cats so much, but my parents don’t think I’m responsible enough. They said if I do well in school this year they might let me have one.”

“Oh. My grandma gave me a toad- she said they’re easy to take care of, and he won’t mind hanging out with me in the greenhouse. As long as I make sure he doesn’t eat anything poisonous.”

“Does he do anything special?”

“Nah. He’s just a toad. Do you want to see? His name is Trevor.”

“Ok.” Neville reached inside a pocket of his robes.

“Why do you keep him in there?”

“So he doesn’t get lost.”

“Oh.”

Neville searched his robes, patting himself down.

“Wait, I think he’s missing!” He groaned and put his head in his hands, a reaction that on anyone else would have seemed exaggerated and comical, but was completely genuine on the eleven year old boy.

“How could he get out of your pocket?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know- he must have hopped out while I wasn’t paying attention. Gran made sure my robes were a little loose so that I have room to grow- even though they have a self fitting charm- she wants to make sure they last all year.” Neville was distracted and muttering this. “Says I’m going through a growth spurt.”

“Is he there? Can you find him?” Hermione was watching intently as Neville searched his pockets several times.

“He’s gone.” Neville sniffed and rubbed his sleeve on his face. “I might have dropped him on the platform… I hope he didn’t get squished by someone or the train.”

“He might be on the train,” Hermione suggested.

“Maybe?” Neville stood up. “Well I have to look for him,” he announced. “Trevor is my responsibility and I have to take care of him.” He looked nervously at Hermione. “Uh, do you have any idea how I could find him? He’s not very big.”

“The train is big,” Hermione agreed. “We could ask people.”

“You’ll help look?” Neville looked at Hermione, who was still sitting down.

“Yes,” she said. She felt bad for Neville and his toad. Hermione knew the stress of being given a responsibility and failing at it, and she empathized with his pet plight. She would help him find his toad.

“Let’s double check this cabin, first,” Neville suggested. “I didn’t go very many places on the train.”

The two dropped to their knees and searched underneath their belongings and the seats. While they found plenty of gum stuck to the underside of the seats, they found neither hide nor hair of the missing toad.

“We should check the other parts of the train?” Hermione asked, dusting off her knees.

“Yeah, uh, though we’ve only been in this car, so I guess he couldn’t have gone far if he’s on the train.”

“Check the hallway, then,” Hermione said.

The pair did so, swaying on their feet as the train rocked around corners. They dutifully searched the hall of their car, but again found no trace of the missing toad. What they did encounter was far less pleasant.

“Oh, Longbottom, what’re you doing with your bottom up in the air?” A mocking voice accompanied the door at the opposite end of the car opening. Neville stood up quickly, his face going beet red.

A boy who looked the same age as Neville and Hermione stood in the doorway, making a face. He and Neville were both pale and blonde, but that was where the resemblance stopped. Where Neville was comfortably chubby, the other boy was skinny and wore a sour expression on his face.

“Longbottom, if you need to let out a fart, do it in your own cabin instead of stinking up the hall here. Who are you? Muggleborn, no doubt.” The blonde stranger looked pointedly at Hermione (who was continuing to check the last corner of the car for the missing Trevor.

“I’m Hermione. Have you seen Neville’s toad?” she asked distractedly.

“Why would I have seen Neville’s toad? Unlike some, I don’t spend my entire life with my eyes on the ground.” Though this insult was nonsensical, Neville turned even redder.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Neville managed to ask.

“I’m going to find the snack trolly, if you would move your arse out of the way.” Malfoy shouldered past Neville, who flinched away from him, and deliberately bumped his shoulder into Hermione on his way through the car.

When he departed, Neville let out a sigh of relief. “I hate him,” he muttered to himself.

“Who is he?” Hermione asked, triple checking the car for Trevor.

“Draco Malfoy. He’s never liked me, thinks I’m a squib.”

“What’s a squib?”

“Anybody with magical parents who doesn’t have magic. My gran thought I was one for the longest time, all my family kept trying to get me to do accidental magic as a kid.”

“I never did any magic as a kid either,” Hermione said, thinking carefully.

“Well it’s different for muggleborns, because no one expects it. When you come from a pureblood family like me, it’s a big shame to have someone be a squib. So they kept trying to force the magic outta me.” Neville shuddered with recollection. “Once one of my uncles hung me out of a high window by my ankles.”

Hermione just stared at him.

“Anyway, even when I did show that I had magic, I was never very good. Maybe Trevor’s got more magic than I do- he seems to be able to become invisible or something.”

“I don’t think toads can become invisible.” Hermione scratched her head. “Is that a thing that happens to wizard’s pets?”

“I’m joking,” Neville said with a sigh, “but I really don’t know where he’s got to.”

“What should we do?”

“I guess there’s nothing for it but to check the other cars. Maybe he went through when someone opened the door. There’s a decent amount of traffic through here.” Neville looked around. “I don’t fancy going that way, since Draco just went over there.” He gestured towards the front of the train. “Let’s head to the back.”

“Ok,” Hermione agreed, and walked over to the back of the car, sliding the door open.

She hated the rickety feeling, tiny, loud space between the train cars, and she struggled with opening the next door. In the end, Neville had to reach around her and help her open it. The pair stumbled together into the next train car. They searched the narrow hallway to no avail.

“Shall we check the compartments?” Neville asked.

“Check the compartments,” Hermione affirmed.

Neville slid open the door to the first compartment in the car. It was occupied by a black haired boy and a red haired boy. Around them were strewn a great number of candy wrappers. One particular pile of wrappers on the floor seemed to be moving in a rather toadlike manner.

Neville, spotting the moving wrapper, gleefully exclaimed “Trevor!” and dove to the floor to catch it.

“Uh, I think that’s just a chocolate frog, there, mate,” the redhead muttered.

Neville, having scooped up what he thought was his toad, uncovered the wrappers that he had also inadvertently captured and discovered that it was indeed just a chocolate frog. Disappointed, he tried to hand it back to the boys as it struggled in his hand. Seeing his plight, the black haired boy reluctantly took it.

“I know you, you’re Neville, right?” the redhead asked. Neville nodded, blushing. “Who’re you?”

“Hermione Granger.” Hermione stuck out her hand, but the redhead didn’t seem particularly inclined to shake, and the black haired boy was looking just as awkward with a chocolage frog continuing to squirm in his hand.

“Err, I’m Harry.” During Harry’s momentary confusion, the frog squirmed out of his hand and again buried itself in the pile of wrappers on the floor. Awkwardly, he reached out a now chocolaty hand to Hermione, who shook it.

“I’m Ron,” the redhead said. “Are you both first years too?” Neville nodded.

“Um,” Neville started awkwardly, “neither of you have seen a real toad, right? Mine is missing.”

“No, sorry,” Harry said, sounding actually apologetic. “Ron?”

“No, just all sorts of chocolate frogs.” Hermione frowned at this pronouncement.

“Did you get these from the snack cart?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, why?” Ron said, puzzled.

“We haven’t seen it yet.” Hermione replied.

“Hey, that is a little weird.” Neville rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “We’re just in the next car over, and Draco Malfoy said that he was going looking for the trolly since it hadn’t been to him yet, and he came from this direction.”

“Oh, that,” Ron waved his hand. “My brothers said it uses magic to visit the cars in a random order, so no one feels like they have a better or worse seat on the train. I don’t think it would fit in the hallways between the cars otherwise, it’s too big.”

“Wait, Ron, didn’t you say that your brothers told you a bunch of spells? Any for finding a toad?” Harry asked, sounding hopeful.

“Well, they did tell me a finding spell, but honestly they might have been pulling my leg. I’d never heard anything like it before.”

“Are you going to do magic?” Hermione asked, her eyes brightening. She plopped herself down on the seat next to Harry. “Can I watch?”

“Er, I guess.” Ron muttered something else under his breath, but Hermione couldn’t catch it. He pulled out his wand and held it up in the air.

“Finders keepers, losers weepers

Bring the toad that Neville, er, seekers?”

Ron gave the wand an experimental twirl, but nothing seemed to happen.

“Is that a real spell?” Hermione asked. “It didn’t seem to work. I haven’t been able to practice any magic yet, I just got my wand and schoolbooks- but I’ve looked through them a lot and most spells only seem to be a couple words long? Maybe you could shorten it.” She paused for a moment, lost in thought.

Since she seemed like she was about to start up again, Ron spoke up.

“Well, er, I’m sure we’ll find out plenty of toad finding spells once we get to Hogwarts. Maybe you can ask a prefect?”

“Good idea,” Neville said, but the way he said it made it sound like it was less of a good idea than he had hoped. “Come on, Hermione, let’s find a prefect.”

“They’re supposed to be patrolling,” Ron added helpfully, “but you can probably find one of them up in the front, that’s where they all sit.”

“Should we search the cars?” Hermione asked, as the two left Harry and Ron’s cabin.

“No point, I figure.” Neville moaned and rubbed his head. “My gran is going to kill me.”

“Let’s go.” Hermione tugged at Neville’s arm, and led him towards the front of the car. “Find Trevor.”

In the end, a helpful Ravenclaw prefect did find Neville’s toad. A summoning spell sent the poor creature zooming into Neville’s waiting hands, and he practically sobbed with relief. The two returned to their car.

“I think we probably missed the snack trolly in all that.” Neville looked wistfully at a chocolate frog wrapper that he had somehow jammed into his pocket during the awkward encounter with Harry and Ron.

“I’m not allowed to eat candy,” Hermione remarked, sitting back down in her seat and searching through her backpack. “Granola bar?” She held one out towards Neville, and he took it.

“Not allowed to eat candy? Even my gran isn’t that strict. Are all muggles monsters or something?” Neville unwrapped the granola bar and looked at it quizzically. After watching Hermione eat hers, he followed suit. “’S good, thanks.” He tried not to spit oat crumbs out of his mouth as he talked.

“They’re dentists,” Hermione offered, by way of explanation.

“What’s that?” Neville asked.

“They fix people’s teeth.” Hermione gave him a look. “Have you been to the dentist?” Neville shook his head.

“Healers just fix your teeth whenever you go in to get looked at.” He shrugged. “Guess the muggle way is different.”

Hermione looked out the window. “When are we going to get there?”

“Soon,” Neville said. “I think?”

Hermione looked at him, saying nothing.

“Well, you should probably put your robes on. Don’t want to have to do it when we get to Hogwarts, you won’t have time.”

“Ok,” Hermione said, standing up. She opened her suitcase and took out the top robe that was neatly folded on top, and zipped her suitcase back up.

Hermione unfolded the robe and struggled to put it on over her head. She immediately became entangled in the many yards of fabric and began to flail. Neville watched, slightly panicked and unsure of what to do. Eventually, Hermione’s head found its way out of an armhole, and both arms out of the headhole.

“Help,” she muttered, looking at her feet. At the invitation, Neville stood up and helped to wrestle the tent of fabric into its proper position. It took several minutes of fumbling, the two people seemingly working against eachother, with neither one quite sure what to do (Neville not sure how to help, Hermione not sure how to properly wear the wizarding clothing), but the robe eventually straightened around Hermione’s body, and Neville looked at her with approval.

“Perfect,” he said. Hermione scowled. The robe made her anxious, brushing up against her in unusual ways, tangling in her legs, and weighing down her arms just enough to make her feel like there was someone constantly tugging at her sleeve. She hated them.

She sat back down with a sigh. As long as she stayed perfectly still, they didn’t bother her, but Hermione was never one for staying perfectly still. Neville noticed her discomfort.

“You ok?” he asked, looking at her jumpy, twitching body with concern.

“Fine,” she replied angrily. Neville frowned and looked away. What if she was mad at him for helping.

The pair spent the rest of the train ride in relative silence, Hermione fussing with her uncomfortable robes and looking out the window, and Neville becoming progressively more worried that Hermione was angry with him.

When the train whistle blew and the giant steam engine shuddered to a stop, it was almost a relief for the two to exit the train. Hermione tried to bring her suitcase and backpack, but Neville told her to leave them.

“My gran told me the train gets unloaded later and all our stuff brought to our dorms.”

Hermione looked longingly at her backpack, but obediently exited the train. She felt dwarfed by the crush of students, the giant train itself, and the great man holding a lantern yelling:

“Firs’ years over here- firs’ years!”

Neville walked in the indicated direction and Hermione followed. Though they were headed towards a lake, Hermione hoped that they would not have to be taking boats- the feeling of rocking and the proximity to the possibility of falling in the water made her incredibly nervous.

Unfortunately for Hermione, it was boats.`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no update (sorry lol) but here's a chapter
> 
> obviously some minor events have been, uh, restructured, from canon but lbr that's the point of fanfic so I doubt anyone minds haha  
> the thing about hp fic is that it's very formulaic, and every fic that starts with first year covers basically the same events. later fics have a lot more divergence, but pretty much everyone follows the same formula of events
> 
> not that that's a bad thing haha
> 
> also: why do I only update in the middle of the night? lord only knows. haven't proofread this one as much, so let's hope that there's no weirdness, or at least not too much weirdness. if there is let me know and I'll fix it


	4. The Sorting Hat

The boat ride was approximately as miserable as Hermione had expected. She had never been a fan of things that swayed or wobbled outside of her control, and the boat that carried her across the lake seemed intent on doing just that. With the dim light of the lamp that the large man held up, Hermione could see things moving underneath the surface of the water. On a normal day she might have been interested, but the shapes that writhed in the murky depths caused her to shudder. This was not a normal day: it was dark and she was altogether too close to the surface of that water.

She imagined herself reaching her hand out, just dipping it down to skim the surface. She could, she could do it. But she imagine then the shock of the cold water and the greater shock of a wet hand reaching up from the lake to grab her wrist and pull her under. Hermione held still and tried to keep her thoughts at bay.

She shared a boat with Neville, Ron, and Harry. Ron and Harry seemed to be mostly excited, but she couldn’t really tell in the dark. She took some comfort in knowing that Neville was just as nervous, and possibly just as distraught, as she was. Hermione could hear him sniffling occasionally.

Finally the boats docked themselves on the other side of the lake. Fighting with her voluminous robes the whole time, Hermione scrambled gratefully onto the shore, nearly kicking Neville and elbowing Harry in her haste.

“Watch it,” Ron muttered as her sleeve knocked his ear.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Hermione squeaked and continued to struggle on the slippery pebbled surface. Neville eventually grabbed her arm to steady her. He was holding Trevor tightly in his other hand.

They seemed to have entered underneath the castle that had been visible from the opposite shore. Hermione had been too worried to pay much attention to the actual boat ride, but they were now underground, or, at least, the sky was no longer visible.

“Right, this way.” The large man cheerfully ushered the group up a narrow passageway and up a flight of steps.

Hermione noted that they had not been under the castle, just in some sort of underground loading area. The group wound up standing on the lawn (a dark green almost black in the sliver of moonlight available) in front of the huge and imposing castle doors. Neville was still holding Hermione’s arm. She wasn’t certain what to do about this, but a glance at Neville’s face showed her that he seemed to be holding her mainly for his own sake. That was what she gathered from the fact that he was paying her absolutely no attention, anyway.

The large man knocked on the doors and they swung open.

Hermione breathed a huge sigh of relief when she saw the figure standing behind them. “That’s Professor McGonagall,” she whispered to no one in particular, “she helped me get my school things.”

McGonagall thanked the large man, Hagrid, Hermione gathered, and ushered the gaggle of children into the huge stone entry hall. Torches lined the walls, illuminating a huge staircase and another doorway. Voices came from behind that door, other students it sounded like. And it sounded like it would be loud.

Hermione spent a moment clenching her fists in her robes and wishing that she had disobeyed Neville’s instructions and brought her backpack. Then she could have her headphones if it was as noisy in there as it sounded like it would be from out here. ‘Well, worst comes to worst,’ Hermione thought, ‘I’ll just stuff my fingers in my ears. Though that’s rude I suppose.’ She had hoped to make a good first impression, but it looked like that might be slipping out of reach.

Before Hermione had more of a chance to process the huge doors and the noise behind them, the group of students was moving again, into a much smaller chamber where they stood packed like sardines.

McGonagall spoke. “Welcome to Hogwarts. The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.”

Hermione tuned out as McGonagall began to describe the four houses, which Hermione already knew. She became overcome with nerves. Had she thought enough about what house she was going to be in? They all sounded fine. She bit first her lip, then her fingers as the anxiety grew more severe. McGonagall had finished speaking and left the room while she had not been paying attention.

What if it was some sort of test? Hermione choked back a sound as she thought about failing at her first magical experience. Her parents would never let her stay here if she didn’t continue to make progress, to improve. If she started failing tests, letting milestones slip, if she let her behavior get out of hand- someone whispered something behind her about having to fight a troll- she could get killed, or worse, expelled.

She ran through a list of everything that she knew she had to do. Quietly, she whispered them to herself. “Don’t be rude, do what your teachers tell you, do your homework, be neat when you eat, take care of your hygiene…”

She was still whispering when ghosts floated through, and she barely noticed that McGonagall had lined them up and opened the doors.

The sight of the Great Hall was enough to make her stop, however. It was massive, bigger than any room that Hermione had ever been in. Floating candles illuminated the space, drifting gently around in the currents created by moving students and ghosts. She wondered first how the candles didn’t drip wax on everyone, and second why they didn’t just use bulbs like everyone else. She stopped thinking about the candles soon enough, however, when she looked across the room at the long tables covered in glittering dishes and surrounded by older students, and up to the ceiling that looked exactly like the night sky outside. She almost cried.

It was beautiful, horrible, and overwhelming all at once. She had the great urge to sit down, but she contented herself with trying to verbalize what she was feeling. “It looks like the sky, it says so in Hogwarts: A History.”

McGonagall walked towards the front of the room, carrying a short stool and a ragged hat. She placed the hat on the stool. The first years around Hermione shuffled nervously for a moment, watching these proceedings with great interest. Suddenly, the hat twitched on the chair, and in a hoarse voice began to sing:

 

[[Oh, you may imagine that I’d write

A better sorting song.

But read the book for more delight-

My poetry’s just wrong!]]

 

Hermione jumped when it started singing, but slowly relaxed as it described the process of how they would be sorted. To her relief, there would be no troll fighting at all. Behind her, Ron seemed to be sharing the same sort of relief.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.” McGonagall unrolled a long roll of parchment and held it up. “Abbott, Hannah!”

The sorting proceeded, with students going one by one to the stool. Hermione tried to breathe deeply and calmly, but she was rather worried- first about the sorting, and second of the other students hearing her breathing. She bounced on her toes, relentless and uncomfortable.

Hermione couldn’t tell very much about the other students who were being sorted, because she hadn’t met them yet. Before she knew it, her name was being called.

“Granger, Hermione!” She jumped and ran to the stool, nearly tripping over her own legs, but not wanting to hold up the process. She yanked the hat off the stool, possibly a little too hard, and jammed it on her head. The instant the hat touched her head, something that was not Her, gently guided her to sit down on the stool.

Hermione felt this intrusion and struggled against it, trying to flail her arms or jiggle her legs as she had been doing in line. She stayed absolutely still, however. She tried to open her mouth to yell, but found that all she could do was breathe.

“Calm down, calm down…” she heard someone say inside her head. It might have tried to sound like it was coming from her ears, but that was a trick. She refused to heed whoever was telling her to calm down.

Again and again she tried to get up. She could feel something working its way through her head.

“You’re making this much more difficult for yourself, you know…” Still, she resisted.

Then, she felt something akin to satisfaction, though it did not come from Her, it came from the Other.

A memory surfaced of hands grabbing hers and yanking them behind her back. It played itself out, she could hear herself shouting and crying, exactly as she was trying to do now, but back when she was smaller. “Quiet hands!” a voice yelled in her ear in the memory. The thoughts passed through her wickedly, and she shuddered, but stopped resisting.

“Much better…” She was back to the now, with that voice still in her head. “Now, where shall I put you…”

“You have a little cunning, enough to keep yourself going. Maybe not enough for you to know when it’s better to lay in wait instead of struggling, though…”

“…Hard enough worker, but weather that’s by choice or because it was enforced, I suppose if neither of the others fit you could go to Hufflepuff…”

“You do love learning. You could go into Ravenclaw…”

“Hah, and you do love a good struggle…”

“They’d tear you apart in Ravenclaw, not much known for their warmth…”

“You know, I haven’t had one like you in many, many years…” Hermione weakly tried to struggle again, wishing that this process would end.

“Oh, you don’t learn when to quit, do you.”

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted at last, this time out loud. She felt it guide her into a standing position and move her arms up towards her head.

“Be more gentle this time…” it said as she began to lift it off her head. The instant the brim of it was no longer touching her head, the connection was cut and Hermione was free. She almost cried with relief, but she tossed it onto the stool and hurried towards the table that was cheering for her.

She slid into a seat that seemed to be reserved for first years and tried to smile at the people who smiled at her. She watched the rest of the sorting in a daze, hardly caring about anything, too overwhelmed by the hat’s prying in her head. She wanted to cry, but there was no crying allowed at the table, she knew. She might get sent away without getting to eat.

She tried to focus on the headmaster’s speech. As “Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!” ran through her scull she half wondered if the speech was directed at her. After all, she was abit of a nitwit, and she did rather feel like crying. Nearby, she heard and saw a redhead telling Harry that the headmaster was, in fact, mad.

Food appeared on the dishes in front of her. She wondered what to do. Excepting breakfasts (which she was allowed to cook), all food had only ever been doled out to her. At school she only got food when she was well behaved. At home her parents served dinner. She hesitated and watched first older students, then the younger ones, reach to serve themselves food.

This must be how it’s done here. She, too, reached out to take a small amount of food. Roast potatoes and sausages looked good and safe to eat. Hermione had eaten those before. She ate, paying careful attention to her manners. It wouldn’t do to embarrass herself on the first day. Luckily, no one seemed to be wanting to talk during dinner, or at least, not to her. She kept her eyes on her plate, concentrating until she was finished.

After a while, other students finished their dinners, too, and the dishes vanished and were replaced by deserts. Knowing that her parents would not approve of her eating sweets, Hermione served herself from a bowl of fruit salad. She knew it was rude, but she avoided the melons and served herself extra of the strawberries. She didn’t think that anyone would mind- looking around, Hermione saw that most people were going for the cakes and ice creams.

She made the mistake of looking up from her food to take stock of her surroundings. The boy next to her, an older redhead with a badge on his robes, introduced herself.

“I’m Percy Weasley- I’m a prefect, you know. You’re Hermione?” Hermione nodded. “Well if you ever need anything, you can come to me, prefects are here to help the younger students.” Hermione smiled politely.

“Do you have any questions about Hogwarts, or classes, or anything else?” Percy asked, Hermione wondered why he was trying to talk to her, but maybe he was just trying to be helpful.

“Are we going to start doing magic in classes right away?” she asked.

“It depends on the class, of course, but some will have you doing magic straight away. Charms, transfiguration, potions- those will probably be practical straight off.” Percy was nodding as he spoke. “Which one do you think you’ll be most interested in?”

“Well, there’s so much to learn, but I’m particularly interested in Transfiguration. Turning something into something else. Of course, I read in the textbook that it’s supposed to be terribly difficult-” Hermione had practiced this response, figuring that someone would ask it. She was right, her parents had, and now Percy. She hoped it was the right amount of curious and humble, without sounding either too eager or uneager.

“Don’t worry- you start small, with needles into matchsticks. And the more you practice, the better you get.” Percy had a note in his voice that might be reassuring.

“Do you light the matchsticks on fire?” Hermione wondered this out loud.

“I don’t recall doing that my fist year, no.” Percy pondered this question. “Though I would think that it would be a good test if it actually was a matchstick or just a needle that looks like a matchstick.”

“If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it must be a duck,” Hermione offered. Percy raised an eyebrow.

“Well you don’t do live animals for several years, but I suppose the principal is the same.” Percy abruptly abandoned the conversation as Harry exclaimed something on his other side.

Eventually, the noise of conversation in the hall rose to unbearable levels as people’s appetites were filled, and Hermione considered plugging her ears. Just as she was about to do so, the remaining deserts vanished. Hermione looked up at the head table as the noise receded.

“Ahem- just a few more words now that we’re all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.” Dumbledore made further announcements and Hermione took mental notes on the fact that the forbidden forest was forbidden (easy enough to remember), that no magic should be used in the corridors, quidditch trials will be held soon, and that the third floor corridor on the right side is out of bounds. Hermione wondered about this, but knew that she would do her best to avoid it.

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song! Everyone pick their favorite tune and off we go!”

Hermione was totally unprepared for the absolute cacophony of sound that began to rise from the students. Hastily, she jammed her fingers in her ears and tried to tuck her head into her shoulders, but none of it was enough. This was torture. This was worse than the hat, though the hat had been bad. Silently, though it wouldn’t have been noticed in the racket if she’d done it out loud, she prayed that this would not be a daily occurrence at dinner. She also vowed to bring her headphones with her everywhere, just in case people found singing like this a fun pastime. There were so many strange things about this place, she couldn’t be sure that classes wouldn’t burst out in song- if one could call this song. Finally, it ended, and everyone clapped.

At least clapping was a predictable sound.

Finally, the students were dismissed. All the Gryffindors followed Percy up through the castle. Hermione was anxious to get to her room and go to sleep. This had been far too much excitement for one day. She noted dimly that portraits on the walls moved and whispered at them, but she couldn’t be bothered to pay them any more attention. She was much more bothered by trying to follow Percy through the winding castle, and her heavy robes dragging on every part of her skin. How she hated the stupid things!

Suddenly, the group stopped. They almost collided with Percy, who urgently whispered to them- “It’s Peeves, a poltergeist.”

“Peeves,” Percy shouted (Hermione winced at the sudden noise), “Show yourself!”

Peeves blew a raspberry.

“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?” Percy asked, faking patience.

Peeves turned out to be a short man, floating in the air, grinning horribly at them. He held a collection of walking sticks, one of which he held in his right hand like a javelin.

“Oooh, Ickle firsties! What fun!” He dived at them from the air, beating above their heads with the walking stick. Everyone ducked.

“Go away, Peeves, or the Baron’ll hear about this, I mean it!” Percy yelled this again, and it had the same effect as before (a raspberry), but Peeves did obligingly vanish. The walking sticks, however, did not vanish, and instead rained down on Neville’s head. Although it was dark, Hermione thought that Neville looked close to tears.

As the other students streamed around her, Hermione stopped to pick up the walking sticks. She looked around and saw that the other students had gathered at the end of the hallway. Hurriedly, though hating to make or leave a mess, Hermione leaned the sticks against the wall. She hoped that someone else would know what to do with them.

She ran down the hall and listened as Percy told the portrait the password and led them all inside. She didn’t really have the energy to process the sight of the common room before she again was led towards what she supposed was the girls’ dorm.

Hermione took stock of the other girls, but it was dark and they seemed to be just as ill inclined to chat as she was. They all pulled back the curtains on the beds that had their trunks or other possessions in front of them. Hermione wondered for a moment if she should get her headphones out, if any of the girls were going to snore. She decided it wouldn’t be worth it to fish through her backpack and make more noise.

As quickly as possible, she did her business in the attached bathroom and freed herself of her cumbersome robes. She scrambled into the tall bed, which turned out to be remarkably soft (magic?) and pulled the curtains around her to form a dark cave. Hermione lay in the darkness for a moment and listened to the other girls get ready for bed, saying goodnight to each other, but she was asleep before Lavender Brown eventually turned off the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little bit of a shorter chapter, and a bit of dialogue pulled directly from the book, but that's how this chapter usually goes
> 
> anyway hermione gets sorted! I've been tempted to put her in other houses, but I don't think that it's worth it since other houses are not developed very well. shame on jkr for that
> 
> anyway. again with the 2am updates. me @ myself: why


End file.
